


Gone

by starlightfury



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightfury/pseuds/starlightfury





	Gone

What was supposed to be one of the happiest days of Feyre’s life turned out to be one of the worst.

She and Rhys had been trying to start a family for a long time, and when they found out she was finally pregnant, they were ecstatic. She couldn’t wait to hold her newborn son in her arms, to give him a name and promise him a life full of love.

Feyre had often dreamed of this moment. She pictured herself, in a hospital bed, Rhys by her side, both of them cooing at the little bundle in her arms. She imagined happy tears and excited family members welcoming the new addition. She hadn’t imagined this.

The baby wasn’t crying. Feyre knew that was a bad sign. The room was filled with sound as nurses bustled around, speaking to each other in hushed tones, but her son’s silence was deafening. Beside her, Rhysand was squeezing her hand. Eyes filled with tears, Feyre prayed silently, over and over. _Please let him be okay, please let him be okay, please…_ It felt like there was a hole in her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Feyre’s voice cracked with desperation. “Someone please tell me what’s going on!”

The doctor turned to them, looking grim. “He’s having trouble breathing. We’re going to take him to the NICU and get him on a ventilator. We’ll do everything we can.”

Feyre let out a choked sob, covering her mouth. “Oh God.”

“It’s going to be alright, darling,” Rhys soothed as they took the baby away. “They know how to help him.”

Feyre shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “What if it’s not?”

“We have to hope that it will.” It sounded to Feyre like Rhys was trying to convince himself as well as her. He rested his forehead against hers. “He still needs a name.”

Feyre took a deep breath. “Abram. After my father. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No,” Rhys said softly. “Abram is good.”

They waited in tense silence for what felt like forever until the doctor returned. When she finally did, Feyre was unable to read her expression. Dread curled in her stomach.

The doctor’s expression shifted to one of regret when she spoke. “He’s on a ventilator, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to breathe on his own if we take him off of it. There isn’t anything else we can do for him. I am so sorry, but the best course of action would be to take him off life support.”

Feyre felt sick and empty. All she had wanted was to have a happy family. Instead, her son would die.

“I can take you to him,” the doctor said. “You can sit with him for a while.”

Feyre nodded slightly, unable to speak.

“Thank you, doctor,” Rhys said. He sounded hollow.

A nurse brought Feyre a wheelchair, for which she was grateful. She didn’t think she’d be able to walk anyway; she felt disconnected to her body. They followed the doctor up to the NICU, Rhys pushing Feyre’s chair, white-knuckled from gripping it so tightly. They were led to a private room, where their son was lying in an incubator surrounded by various machines. Rhys was provided with a chair, and they were left alone.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Feyre whispered. “We just brought him into this world. It’s not fair for him to be taken away so quickly.”

“I know, love.” Rhys reached through an opening in the side of the incubator to hold baby Abram’s hand. Feyre did the same.

“I just wanted a family,” she sobbed.

“I know,” Rhys repeated. “So did I.” He looked up at her. “I still do.”

Feyre shook her head. “I don’t know if I can after this.”

There was a knock at the door. The doctor came in, carrying some paperwork. “I know this is the last thing you want to do,” she said. “But you have to sign some things before we can take him off the ventilator.”

Feyre, feeling like she had been turned inside-out, silently complied, trying not to get tears on the paper. Rhys looked equally as melancholy. The doctor took the paperwork from them sympathetically and called in a nurse. “He’ll go peacefully,” she told them. “His breathing will slow, until it finally stops. He’ll be sleeping throughout all of this. He shouldn’t feel a thing.” It was meant to be a comfort, but nothing could ease the pain that Feyre felt.

“How long do we have?” Rhys asked hoarsely.

“A few hours at most. You can stay with him until then. I am truly sorry.” With an apologetic smile, she left them alone.

Neither of them spoke. They sat there, holding the baby’s hands, listening to his shallow breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor, until, finally, Abram’s breathing stopped and the monitor went flat.

Feyre fell into Rhysand’s arms, sobbing. Her baby boy was gone.


End file.
